


for every dreamer a dream (we’re unstoppable)

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (It's actually a 3+2+1 Things but), 5+1 Things, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: William is like the sun, gold and warm and so, so bright. The kid walks into a room and the effects of his presence are instantaneous, infectious, even. It’s like the clouds of grey have parted and lay way for William Nylander to shine through, illuminating anything, and anyone, within his berth.And if William is like the sun, then Naz is just like every flora on this earth; unable to turn away and left yearning for his touch.(Or, three times Will is hope, two times Will needs hope, and the one time Will is the future)





	for every dreamer a dream (we’re unstoppable)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [splatticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatticus/pseuds/splatticus) in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



 

**i.**

Everyone knows who William Nylander is, Naz included, but like most Leafs prospects, he’s more of an abstract thought, a “save for later,” if you will. So Naz knows about him, _has_ known about him, sure, but he doesn’t formally meet him until pre-camp.

Even then, it’s brief, fleeting. He’s full of potential, but he’s young and it’s not like the Leafs are going anywhere anytime soon. People are saying he’ll probably stay in the A, and it’s probably true. But the unspoken half is that he’ll be up soon enough, and maybe the tides will begin to turn.

So Naz is polite, makes his rounds introducing himself to all the new guys, William included.

It’s brief, and it should be unremarkable. He should just be another kid, another face. Another “hi, nice to meet you” and an impersonal “can’t wait to play hockey together.” It _should_ be.

But.

_“It’s nice to meet you, too, Kadri. This season’s gonna be good, I can feel it.”_

It’s not.

 

~

 

Will takes the ice like it’s the one place he belongs, the one place where he is totally in his element. He takes the ice like it’s his, and his alone, like he’s earned the right to wholly and completely own it, and that everyone else just happens to be his guest.

He skates like he’s meant for it, like it’s natural. Like he learned to skate first and figured out walking after, like a second language. He’s precise and technical, quick and efficient. He skates like it’s autonomous, easier than breathing.

Every guy in the NHL lives for hockey, prioritizes it above all else, but it’s different with Will. It’s different, it’s next-level, and it’s so painfully clear that Naz knows it, can feel it, the minute he steps onto the ice.

Pre-camp is pre-camp and it’s been an unfortunately long summer, so Naz primarily focuses on getting back into it, getting his game back on. But there’s a curiosity in the back of his head, a pull to shift his focus, even if just a split second. He keeps stealing glances at Will from across the ice, can’t help but keep loose tabs on him.

He doesn’t quite know why he’s so intrigued, not yet, but he entertains the thoughts, anyway.

It’s not a hardship, watching Will do his thing. There’s plenty of drive and concentration, sure, but he makes it look light and easy, makes it look like it’s fun and entertaining while still working hard. Naz can’t remember the last time he loved hockey in quite the same way, but he wishes he could.

Practice dwindles down and most guys have already left for the locker room, but Will hasn’t even glanced in that direction. He’s done with his drills and whatever the individual coaches had him doing. It’s his time, and it’s obvious, what with how Will practices his stickwork, accidentally showy, but smooth, pure.

It’s funny, because Naz can tell that he’s not doing it to show off. He’s so obviously in his own little bubble, the rest of the world tuned out while he takes his fill from the ice, refueling and reenergizing from the act of playing hockey alone.

Naz is mesmerized, so much so that he doesn’t realize that it’s just him and Will left on the ice. Not until Will looks up, catches him watching, and gives him a curious look. But then he smiles a little, maybe a little knowing.

“Missed this, you know?” Will says, swizzling up to him. His cheeks are red from the workout, skin a little dewy with fresh sweat, but somehow he still looks absolutely stunning.

“Yeah it’s,” Naz pauses to clear his throat, almost forgetting how to speak, “it’s good to be home.”

Will grins at him, nods agreeably. “It’s good to be here.”

But, as long as the moment feels to Naz, it’s a fleeting. And before he knows it, Will is skating off, hopping over the threshold at the bench, leaving Naz in his wake.

  
  


**-i.**

 

Naz doesn’t forget him about him (could never forget about him, even if he tried), but Will doesn’t come up until the tail end of February, just in time for the final stretch of the season. It’s not like Naz has been purposefully keeping tabs on him, but he still knows that Will has been tearing up the A, soaking it up and conquering it.

Will comes into the locker room, all rookie confidence, and easily carves out a spot on the team, as if he’d been there the whole season. It’s incredible how easy it is for him to shimmy into a spot that no one had realized they’d been missing. How easy it is for him to get comfortable, as if he’d been there all season.

How easy it is for Will to settle himself into Naz’s life.

Naz honestly doesn't know when Will becomes a regular presence in his apartment, often sitting at the kitchen island, balanced on a barstool and swinging his legs back and forth, all carefree and relaxed.

He isn’t even sure how it starts, how Will first ended up at his place. It was probably after practice, maybe with some of the other guys around, too, at first. But it doesn’t matter now because instead, it becomes routine. It becomes _standard_ for Will to follow him home, to park in his guest space, to go through his fridge without asking, somehow already best friends with his microwave.

Today he’s got a bowl reheated stirfry, complete with a side of brown rice and everything. He’d left the mess on the counter, just for Naz to pick up.

Naz rolls his eyes, scolds him, even as he just does that.

But Will just grins, cheeky, sipping at his Voss water (Naz doesn’t even _like_ Voss, he doesn’t even know when he started stocking it), while he watches Naz from his perch.

Elbow on the counter and leaning his head on one hand, cheek smushed against his fist, Will grins. “Thanks, man. You’re a gem.”

Naz glares at him, shakes his head, but laughs, can’t help it.

“Brat,” he says, without malice.

Fond, even.

  


~

 

There’s something bugging Will, and he’s pretty good at hiding it, behind reassuring smiles and laughs that don’t seem completely forced. But Naz knows him well enough, by now, knows that there’s something missing, something not quite right.

He doesn’t push him, not at first.

But then Will’s there, lounging on Naz’s couch like he owns the place, but still miserable. He’s been holding the cat hostage for at least the past ten minutes, petting her back down into the cushions every time she tries to get up and leave. It’s actually kind of funny, once Naz realizes that Will’s sleeves are coated in tufts of loose grey fur.

He grabs a lint roller, tosses it at Will underhand, careful to avoid Jazzy. It hits Will in the shoulder, and he startles a little bit, causing the cat to finally jump and run off. Will glares at him.

“Hey!” Will pouts, but starts rolling the fur off his sleeves, anyway.

“She’ll come back eventually,” Naz shrugs. “Now do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Will makes a face, opens his mouth but hesitates. Closes it again. “It’s nothing,” he says, quiet. He doesn't look up, dead focused on the oh-so-gruelling task of lint rolling.

“I mean,” Naz sighs. “I’m not going to force you to talk, but you don’t have to pretend for me. You know that.”

And Will nods, mulls that over. There’s a silent moment that passes, where Will thinks it through. Naz watches patiently, but lets him have his time. There’s no rush, it’s just the two of them. He can wait, is always willing to wait.

It proves fruitful, because eventually, Will huffs, throws himself further into the couch cushions.

“It’s dumb but,” Will looks away embarrassed. “I’ve been kinda homesick. Like, _really_ homesick.”

“Oh,” Naz says. He knows how that is, remembers being a rookie, being on his own in the big leagues for the first time. There’s a pang in his chest, when he realizes what Will’s been harboring.

“And I know it’s kind of dumb,” Will continues, confessing it in a rush, “because I’ve been billeting for the past forever and it’s not like this is new. And I’m happy to be here, I really am,” he pauses frustrated. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I just… I don’t know how to explain it. It just _feels_ . And it _sucks_.”

Naz hums, considering. “I think that makes sense,” he offers. “And it’s different, you’re halfway around the world. Half the guys here can go home on the weekends.”

“You’re right, and like, I know that rationally,” Will explains, “but sometimes I just want my mom’s cooking and the smell of like, Stockholm.”

Naz had been nodding along, but he stops, gives Will a look. “The smell of Stockholm?”

“Okay, well, not like _Stockholm_ Stockholm,” Will laughs a little, “but like. My room, and the storebrand cleaner my mom uses, and the flowers and shit.”

“The flowers and shit,” Naz repeats, laughing, too. “Then fine, let’s go get some flowers and shit.”

Will cocks his head. “Wait, what?”

Naz is already on his feet, shrugs. “Yeah, why not. We can get food, too.”

A little skeptical, Will gives him a look. “You’re not taking me to Ikea.”

And Naz can’t help it, cracks up. “Oh my god, now that you mention it—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Will grabs a pillow and throws it at him. “Now that you offered we’re getting a whole ass feast.”

Will’s standing now, too, already headed to the mudroom to grab his coat. Naz follows after him and gets his own jacket thrown at his face.

Grinning, he shrugs it on, grabs his car keys.

They go, and Will laughs, full and bright and a little bit more himself again.

  
  


**ii.**

 

Naz has had plenty of bad games in his life, but they’ll never stop feeling as shitty as they always have, always do.

He knows, deep down, that he isn’t _bad_ at hockey. He didn’t go first round for nothing, and he knows that, he does. It’s just… _rough_ sometimes. There’s always whispers, the ones he knows to ignore, _tries_ to ignore. The ones that say “burnout” and “waste” and “fluke.”

Despite them, Naz trudges on, shoulders past them. He goes out there, whether his heart’s in it or not, and leaves it all on the ice. Gets some bruises, gives some out.

Takes some minutes, takes some more.

It’s frustrating, when you do everything you can and it doesn’t add up. When tempers are flaring and no one feels good. When the end is so far away, so out of sight. Naz doesn’t mean to be dramatic but he doesn't know how much longer he can go on like, play when it’s like this.

He barely hears the postgame locker room speech, already hearing echoes of all the scoldings before.

There’s a lot going through his head and he knows that he’s got to take control of it, he’s a vet now, he’s one of the old guys, he’s got to be able to _handle_ himself by now.

 _God_ , he can’t even do _that_ right.

He’s pretty quiet while he undresses, doesn’t do his usual postgame ribbing, doesn’t go around poking fun at his buddies. He’s not feeling it. He’s not feeling much anything, to be honest. Except for like, feeling like absolute shit.

It’s fun living out your childhood dreams, until they’re not quite as great as they seem.

Naz is almost done, gathering the last of shit into his bag and buckling his watch around his wrist. He’s going to go home and go straight to bed because there’s no way he can stay up in this kind of mood.

But then.

“Hey,” that’s Will — of course it’s Will — somehow appearing at his side, fingers light on his shoulder, “um, do you want to come over? Xbox or whatever? I can throw something in the oven?”

Naz blinks at him. Is he serious?

“Oh, actually, I uh,” but then something clicks and he stops, shakes it off. Gets back into himself, just a little, just for Will, who’s looking at him a little cautious, a little _worried_. “Actually,” he starts again, clearer, more stable, “yeah, okay. Why not.”

And Will smiles just a little, not a huge thing, but a _something_. Relief, maybe. Naz doesn’t quite know what that means, doesn’t quite know how he should interpret it, but it’s at least enough for Naz to know he made a good choice.

That’s only reinforced when he exhales and can already feel the warmth back in his fingertips, back in his chest, replacing the shaky empty feeling, the _numb_.

So Naz follows Will home this time around, sits on his couch and lets Will distract him with Red Dead Redemption and Dead Island and a slew of other shitty zombie games until Naz is laughing again, chirping Will about his terrible taste is video games.

Naz doesn’t even realize until he’s keeled over, laughing until he can’t breathe and swatting at Will until he wrestles at him back, until they’re rolling around and knocking shit over and disturbing the neighbors in twilight hours because right now it’s just them, just the two of them. No hockey, no losses, no scoldings, no _bad_.

It hits Naz then, when he finally cedes and rolls onto his back, panting, while Will looks right back at him, triumphant and still giggling like a fucking dork.

His heart thumps maybe a little extra loud. Just once.

It’s almost impossible to believe that this kid came out of nowhere, crawled into his space, and instantly managed to have this kind of effect on him. There’s a sense of awe, of disbelief, that pangs in Naz’s chest, catches him off-guard.

But really, Naz should’ve known, because Will is like the sun, gold and warm and so goddamn bright. The kid walks into a room and the effects of his presence are instantaneous, infectious, even. It’s like the clouds of grey have parted and lay way for William Nylander to shine through, illuminating anything, and anyone, within his berth.

And if Will is like the sun, then Naz is just like every flora on this earth; unable to turn away and left yearning for his touch.

  


**+i.**

 

The season ends and the Leafs miss the playoffs.

It’s not like it’s a surprise, not really. There wasn’t any expectation, none at all. Not yet. But there’s always a little bit of a pull, a hope, that there might be a chance that they sneak past on luck and have a taste.

But unfortunately, luck doesn’t always quite work that way.

It’s disappointing, sucks a little, but it’s nothing that Naz isn’t used to. He’s had to wash out the taste of a dead season more than he’s had to chance to sample a postseason. This part is fine, this part he can get past. He can come back from this part and return to himself for the next season, ready to try again.

The real problem, the thing that’s been keeping Naz up at night, is the thing, whatever it is, that he has with Will. And doesn’t know how he’ll manage if they leave for the summer without addressing this, without finding closure.

He knows that Will won’t bring it up. He knows that he’s going to have to.

So he does. He asks Will if he wants to come over, if he’ll help him pack for his trip to his parents’ in exchange for lunch. It’s casual, it’s normal, it’s safe. Will agrees, of course, because it’s what they do, it’s normal.

Naz’s stomach still churns.

“Hey,” Will says, gentle, as he carefully tosses Naz’s workout shirts into a suitcase. “You good, man?”

Naz doesn’t know why he thought he could hide anything from this kid, not after the months they’ve spent together. He shrugs, gathers his thoughts. Will waits patiently, continues packing his shirts.

“Should we talk about it?” Naz finally settles on, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Will doesn’t judge him, though. He never would. Instead, he glance at him, continues with packing. “About us?”

And Naz nods, unable to make the words comes up. Will’s not looking, but he must see it out of the corner of his eye, must sense it, something, because he sighs. He pauses, drops the shirt he was busy folding.

“We don’t have to make it complicated,” Will starts slow. And then he stops, scratches the back of his neck.

“If that’s what you want,” Naz says quickly.

“What, no,” Will’s eyes go wide, realizes his mistake. “Sorry, let me finish.”

Naz’s face heats. “Oh.”

Will goes to sit on the bed, elbows balanced on his knees. He looks up at Naz, a little hesitant, but yet so full of conviction. “I don’t want it to be complicated, as in, I want us to be together? Like it’s that simple, right?” He makes a face. “I mean, if that’s what you want?”

And Naz blinks, eyebrows shooting up. And then he laughs.

“Yeah,” he grins, moving until he can slide up and sit next to Will. He grabs his hand, entwines their fingers. “That’s all I want.”

“Okay, good,” Will grins. “That’s what I figured.”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Will admits, a little sheepish, “I’ve been kind of thinking about it. That _is_ what you want, right? I didn’t read it wrong?”

“Of course it is,” Naz nudges him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Dunno,” Will leans until he can rest his head on Naz’s shoulder. “You know I’m going home for the summer, right? Like home, home.”

“To Stockholm,” Naz confirms, “I know.”

“And it’s—”

“A twelve hour flight and a six hour time difference,” Naz interrupts, finishing for him. “I know. I’m all in.”

Will is quiet for a second. Naz can hear his breath hitch once, just a little, but still there. He feels Will squeeze his hand.

“And I’m in it with you.”

 

~

 

Summer is rough.

Not that anyone expects anything different, but it doesn’t really, truly hit Naz until he’s back in Toronto, long after Will has already flown home.

Maybe it’s the contrast of his empty kitchen island, the lack of an extra dirty plate, an extra set of shoes at his door. Maybe it’s the fact that he no longer has to search the whole house for his phone charger, the damn thing always where he last left it, now.

It’s the sheer shock, the absence of William, evident in the spaces he had somehow managed to occupy in Naz’s life.

Will likes to send him copious amounts of snaps. It’s not like Naz is that old, he uses snapchat as much as the next twenty-something, but he doesn’t really get the whole appeal of streaks and filters and stuff.

But when it comes to Will, Naz has come to appreciate the way the stupid hearts filter looks over flowy blond hair, the way he accidentally acquires a little fire emoji — then a yellow heart, a red heart, and a pair of pink hearts —  next to Will’s name.

They text sometimes, facetime, too, but it’s not the same as having this dumb kid taking over his space, taking over his life, every second and every moment.

The worst days are the ones where Will sends him a quick selfie, from club bathrooms or woodsy cabins, and Naz feels like he’s holding Will back.

Rationally, Naz knows that nothing and no one could ever hold Will back. He doesn’t take anything from anyone, would only act if it so happens to please him. He wouldn’t keep doing this if he didn’t want to, Naz knows that deep down, but he can’t help but feel like there’s a lot better out there for him. Especially when he’s an ocean and some away and there’s plenty of people and experience presented at Will’s fingertips.

It’s just hard to imagine that Will would pass all that up, just for Naz.

It’s kind of embarrassing, though, so Naz doesn’t bring it up, tries to push those thoughts away and focus on the good. Maybe he succeeds in lying to himself, but apparently not in lying to Will.

“You wanna talk about it?” Will asks over facetime, voice a crackly in the audio. It’s late there, so he’s lounging on his bed, hockey posters of his childhood heroes blurry in the background.

“About what?” Naz says, but winces as soon as he hears how thin it really sounds.

Will sighs and there’s a rustling sound where he’s repositioning his laptop, getting settled in his bed. “I mean, you can say no and it’d be cool, but I’m willing to listen, whatever it is.”

And there’s a hint of something, where Will sounds a little unsure, carries a note of uncertainty and hesitance that Naz isn’t used to on him. It’s vulnerable, almost, and Naz kind of feels bad.

“It’s nothing huge I promise,” Naz settles at the kitchen island, in Will’s unofficial spot, just for the tiny bit of reassurance it provides. “And it’s kind of dumb.”

“If it’s bugging you then it’s not dumb,” Will counters. “And don’t say it’s not really bugging you because I can tell.”

“I just don’t think,” Naz stops, runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. “This is hard, I don’t know how to phrase it.”

Will takes a deep breath, loud enough that it resonates in the tinny speakers on Naz’s phone. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

And Naz sits up so fast, eyes going wide. “No! That’s not—” and then he stops again, a thought crossing his mind. A little dejected, a little quiet, “unless that’s what you want?”

Will makes a face, nose scrunched. “Absolutely not.”

Naz visibly relaxes and Will definitely notices, gives him a look, a little soft, when he finally understands. “Oh. Is that what it’s about?” Will says gently, piecing it together.

Avoiding eye contact, Naz scratches the back of his neck, stretching enough that he can stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, pretty much. Dumb, right?”

But Will shakes his head. “Never dumb.”

“Don’t you feel like I’m keeping you from living your life? I mean, it’d be different if I was there or something, but,” Naz swallows, “but I’m not.”

Will bites his lip, shrugs. “Honestly? No.” He shifts a little, sitting up more. “There’s plenty of times that I wish that you were here with me, of course. But it’s not like I’d want to do things with anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Will grins. “Besides, Sweden’s like home, but I’m kina at a point where Toronto is _home,_ you know?”

And, Naz doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks he understands what Will is really saying, what’s written between the lines.

_Home is with you._

“Yeah,” Naz hums, smiles a little just because he can’t help it. “I know what you mean.”

 

~

 

Because luck hates them, Naz is out of town the day that Will arrives in Toronto.

It’s not even important, just a stupid family weekend at the cottage. He’d ditch it if he could, but it could possibly break his mother’s heart, and he’s every ounce of the momma’s boy that everyone thinks he is, so that’s out.

Will understands, doesn’t even question it. Encourages him, in fact, and tells him that he’ll be mad if Naz does skip it. As much as they’ve missed each other, it’s not like there’s a huge rush or anything. They have all the time in the world now. And besides, Will is more than capable of taking an Uber. He reassures Naz by sending a snapchat while he’s in one, the Uber filter and all.

So by the time Naz gets back that weekend, reeking of lake water and the residual of sunscreen, he’s both surprised and not, when he opens his own front door to find Will splayed out on his couch, thumbing through Instagram while Netflix plays on the TV.

“Oh hey,” Will tilts his head back too see him, until he’s almost upside down. “Welcome home.”

Naz blinks. Then laughs. “Shouldn’t I be the one welcoming _you_ home?”

Will shrugs, grinning. “We can welcome each other, then. At the same time.”

“Oh?”

Will cocks his head, just a little, a gesture that orders Naz to come closer. So Naz dutifully obeys, pads over until he’s standing directly above Will.

It’s easy, then, for Will to lean up until their noses brush, until they’re close enough for Will to press his lips to Naz’s chaste but firm, words unspoken but there nonetheless.

It’s a while until they part, breathless. There’s a beat, a moment, that feels longer than it is, where Will just looks at Naz all fond, like there’s nothing else he’d rather be looking at.

“I missed you,” he finally says, soft but all in one exhale, like he’s been holding it in and he’s finally been able to let it out. “Like a lot.”

Naz laughs, rests their foreheads together because they’re gross and sappy like that. “I missed you, too.”

He kisses Will one more time, quicker this round, just because he can. Just because Will is right there, right here, right in front of him.

“Yeah,” Will sighs, mostly lazy and content, but a hint cheeky. “I can tell.”

And yeah, no, Naz won’t take that, so he grins wickedly and pinches Will lightly, which spurs Will into grappling back at him until they’re full or wrestling, Will somehow rolled off the couch and onto the floor, dragging Naz with him.

Eventually, Will manages to get the upper hand, flipping them until Naz is flattened out on his back with Will weighty on top of him, grinning so bright and wide it’s almost blinding.

The protests and chirps die in Naz’s throat, and he instead melts, face softening and body relaxing, and inadvertently letting Will finally win.

He rewards with — yup — another kiss.

  
  


**-ii.**

 

Will doesn’t stay up.

He tries to play it tough, rolls it off and pushes it down and down, but Naz likes to think he knows him well enough by now. _Wants_ to think he knows what those shrugs and half-hearted smiles really mean.

He’s not sure if anyone else can tell the difference, not sure if anyone else can read Will like he can, but the point is that Naz _can_ so maybe that means something.

Maybe it means he’s the one who has to — _can_ — step in.

“Sushi night?” Naz says, as casual as he can, arm sling over Will’s shoulders.

But Will sees right through him. “I’m fine.”

Naz makes a face, pointed.

“Really,” Will sighs more than says, a little worn out. It’s not convincing.

“Okay,” Naz tries again, “then sushi night just because? And not because it’s your favorite?”

Will does smile a little then, leans a little bit further into Naz, probably not enough to notice unless you know him like Naz does.

“Alright,” Will hums after a beat, “random sushi night, for no reason in particular.”

Naz laughs just a little. “Completely spontaneous.”

“Completely.”

 

~

 

It’s one of those places where you can order a shit of sushi and rolls and they put it all out on a decorative boat, so of course it’s ends up on Instagram Stories. One each.

“You use too much filter,” Will scrunches up his face when he leans over to glance at Naz’s phone. “It’s too blue.”

“I like it,” Naz shoots him off. But then he looks up, grins, “it gives it that Toronto feel.”

Will pokes him with his chopsticks, maybe a little too hard, but it’s chill, Naz can take it, so he just laughs instead.

“You’re so annoying,” Will groans, soaking a piece of sushi in soy sauce.

Naz stares at the poor sushi piece. “You drowned it. It suffocated.”

Will pops it in his mouth and sticks his chin out while he chews, just to rub it in Naz’s face.

“It’s delicious,” Will says, muffled from his mouth still full.

“Gross,” Naz makes a face.

But Will just laughs, covers his mouth with his hand, because yes, there is still food in his mouth.

“ _Buh ooh ill uh eh_ ,” he tries. But it’s okay because Naz knows, Naz is unfortunately fluent in Full-Mouth Will speak.

“You’re right,” he groans, put out. “I _do_ still love you.”

“Mhm,” Will beams, finally swallowing. “Thought so.”

“As if you don’t _know_ ,” Naz rolls his eyes, fond.

“As if you’d ever let me forget,” Will shoots back.

Naz shrugs, thenrrages across the table with his chopsticks and steals a piece right off Will’s plate, puts the whole thing in his mouth before Will can even process. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Hey,” Will protests, delayed, but doesn’t do much else that pout. “Asshole.”

“Your favorite asshole.”

Cheeky, Will shrugs and parrots back, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

Naz smiles sympathetically, then plucks up an identical sushi piece from the boat and drenches it in soy sauce. He holds it across the table, and it drips twice before Will realizes.

He rolls his eyes again, but he leans in and takes the peace offering as it is, not even caring when soy sauce dribbles over his chin.

Not even when Naz manages to steal a Snapchat of it, and not even when he puts dumb stickers from the “Sweden” search and sends it to Will, and Will alone.

“Terrible,” is what he says with a smile.

“Thanks,” Naz grins right back.

 

~

 

It’s easy for Will to forget about the whole “sent down” thing when Naz does so much to distract him, but it doesn’t work, _can’t_ work, forever.

They’re cuddled up in bed with Netflix going, some episode of Suits that they’re not totally paying attention to. Will’s entangled around Naz like a sloth, legs hooked around some odd part of Naz, arms thrown over and around his neck, his chest. It’s surprisingly comfortable, even if Will exudes heat like a human space heater.

It’s good, it’s normal and routine, right until Will cranes his neck back and looks at Naz with the worst possible face.

“I keep going over every single game, every shift, every fucking play, just trying to figure out where I fucked up. And I just... I can’t _stop_.”

Naz bites his lip, breathes out a little shaky, because there’s nothing he can really do to get Will out of his head when he’s like this. All he can do is stand by his side and try to support him in any way he can. But it’s hard, because he feels a little useless, a little helpless.

He just wants to help him, make it better.

There are other ways.

Naz pulls Will a little tighter, presses his face into Will’s hair and places a soft couple kisses on his crown, soft. He lets Will relax into him, willingly takes his weight. Then, finally, whispers into his hair.

“You’re going to play your heart out, come back up, and then you’re going to show them that _they_ fucked up.”

Will sighs, not fully believing him, not fully on board. “But what if I don’t—”

“Nope,” Naz cuts him off. “Think forward, not backward.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It’s not,” Naz is quick to agree, running his hands through Will’s hair. “It’s not easy, but nothing worth it ever is.”

Will takes a sharp breath in, swallows. “Yeah,” he pauses. “Alright, yeah.”

“You’re allowed to feel shitty, and you don’t have to feel better about it all at once, but,” Naz presses his face in the crook of Will’s neck, getting as close as they can possibly be, “you’re going to make it through this and bounce back, better than ever.”

“Better than ever,” Will mumbles, half just trying to convince himself. “Okay, okay. Better.”

“Yup, and I’ll be right there with you. We’re in this together, you know.”

And Will nods, enough that Naz can feel it, can feel Will’s head bop, brushing against his own skin.

“Better, together.”

 

**iii.**

Naz, and everyone else, was right. Will shreds the A again, and is brought back up before anyone truly notices he’s gone. Well, except for Naz, of course, but that’s different, that’s kind of a _boyfriends_ thing.

It feels good to have Will back, with the maple leaf proud on his chest. Toronto Blue is all the same, but it’s a lot different, wearing the Leaf other than anything else.

It’s a lot different, wearing a matching jersey, a matching Leaf, right alongside his favorite person.

It feels good to have Will back, right where he belongs.

They’re at practice and most of the guys have already left the ice, leaving just a handful of them left. Will’s probably going to stay until the very end, because he’s still acting like he’s got things to prove, so Naz will probably stick around with him, just to keep him company.

Will lazily skates a circle around Naz, once, twice, while he cools down between reps. Naz is half-heartedly working on stick-handling, not really into it, more just to keep himself busy. He tracks Will as he passes by, both times. He raises a brow.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Naz calls out, glances toward the locker room.

“Nah,” Will says, ducking into Naz’s space and easily stripping the puck right off his stick. He brings it back out until he’s near the net, does this fancy little move between his feet, really just fucking around at this point.

But Naz just keeps watching him, paused where he stands, simply bearing witness to everything that is William Nylander.

It’s a little surreal, watching Will take over the ice like this, even when he’s just playing around, toying with him. Even when it’s the most non-serious thing in the world. Will takes the ice, commands it, bends it to his will.

Naz’s breath catches somewhere in his throat.

He does his best to play it cool, but apparently fails, because Will catches his stare and then grins, knowingly.

“Like what you see?”

Naz scoffs, but smiling nonetheless. “Obviously.”

“You’re awful,” Will shakes his head, laughing. “You don’t even try.”

“What can I say,” Naz shrugs, “I’m weak.”

Will glances around the ice quickly — once, twice, three times — just to make sure they really are alone. Then, quickly, he steal a quick kiss, chaste and fast, blink and you miss it, but just as meaningful as always.

He’s bright red, but looking at Naz with wide eyes, a look that Naz doesn’t think he’d ever be able to find the words to describe.

“Come on,” Will finally says, tugging at Naz’s jersey, getting it all crooked. “Let’s go home.”

So Naz goes, because he’d do anything if Will asked. Naz goes, following Will out, and then does exactly what he’s told.

He takes them home.

 

~

 

They pregame nap together because that’s just their routine now. Really, anything together is routine now. Just, _together_ is routine now.

Naz wakes up first, he usually does, and he blinks at Will, who’s still peacefully asleep, lightly snoring and drooling just a little bit. Honestly, he looks like a mess, but there’s still something that tugs at Naz’s heart. Something like a fondness, an appreciation of everything that is Will, be it something beautiful, or something ethereal. Something.

It’s gross and sappy but Naz still can’t believe it, still can’t believe that this is his life. That Will is right there, that he has him, that he has _them_ , that they’re a unit, a _together_.

Will must sense his staring, be it a weird sixth sense or a Naz sense or something, but he must feel something because his eyes flutter open, sleepily blinking awake.

He focuses on Naz almost immediately, blinks a little bit more at him, and there’s a beat until he smiles, realizing.

“Hey,” he says, quiet, and cracking at the end from the sleep lingering in his throat, “is it already gametime?”

“Yup,” Naz smiles sympathetically, “time to get up, Sleeping Beauty.”

“‘M not,” Will groans into the comforter, “you are.”

“I’m what?” Naz laughs. “Are you trying to say _I’m_ Sleeping Beauty?”

“Mhm,” Will tells the comforter.

Naz shakes his head, but gets up and lets Will lay around for a little bit longer. He uses the bathroom, gets dressed, and puts two potatoes in the microwave. Unsurprisingly, Will is still cocooned in the comforter, yet still taking up most of the bed.

“Alright,” Naz hums, shoving at the Ball of Will, “time to get up, babe.”

There’s an indecipherable groan from the Ball.

“Yeah, yeah,” Naz shoves at him more, “come on. Game day, focus.”

There’s another grown, but then a peak of blond pops up from one end of the Ball and Naz can’t help it, he starts cracking up.

“I’m coming,” says Will, small and sleepy but there nonetheless. “Stop bitching.”

“Who’s bitching?” Naz pokes at him. “I’m not bitching.”

Will manages to peak out just a little more, just enough to proper glare at him.

“For real though,” Naz says, softer, “potatoes are already in the microwave.”

“Aw, babe,” Will says, a little cheeky, “so thoughtful.”

“I know I am,” Naz grins right back, I’m just _so_ thoughtful.”

Will laughs, finally unraveling himself out of the comforter and pouting when he sits up. “I could totally sleep for like, five hundred more hours.”

“I know you could,” Naz tugs at him, “but it really is time to go.”

Defeated, Will finally gets up, stretches until he makes a pleased sound, then trots off to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he goes along, leaving a messy trail just for Naz. How sweet.

“Never change, Nylander,” Naz calls after him.

“Absolutely never,” Will calls back.

 

~

 

There’s definitely been worse games, even (actually, especially) in the season previous, but that doesn’t make a shit game feel any better in the moment. There’s still hope, there always is, and especially in a tie-game situation, but there’s just something not clicking today, and the Leafs play just isn’t what it _can_ be.

There’s something to be said when you have double the SOG and somehow only the same one to one score.

So Naz is starting to lose hope, like most of the bench, the energy fizzling out and hockey feeling more and more like a chore by the minute. Not every game can be fun, but it sure sucks when it’s apparent that it’s not.

But then there’s Will, who’s still bouncing his knee, eyes fixed on the ice, watchful and fucking determined.

This kid, Naz _swears_.

Then coach taps Will on the head and the kid is ready for it, goes over the boards the second the guys come back, and goes straight for the puck without missing a beat.

It’s crazy, watching William Nylander work. It’s crazy, that Naz gets to sit on this bench and watch it happen right before his eyes.

It’s crazy that Will is here, that he’s theirs, that he’s _his_.

It’s crazy that Will manages to strip the puck and bury it, all in one flowy movement, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

He even throws in that _stupid_ between-the-legs move, the one he keeps fucking around with at practice.

Naz blinks, shocked, yet unsurprised.

Only Will.

He’s cellying down at the other end, whooping and throwing his arms around as he does. His fucking grin is wider than wide and Naz can’t help but to stare, just a little too fond, for maybe just a little too long.

Mo laughs from next to him. “Maybe at least _try_ to reign in the heart eyes, bud?”

Naz scoffs. “Haters just be jealous.”

So Mo just laughs, shrugs. “Sure, Kadri, sure.”

And Mo is right, because Naz doesn’t contain his heart eyes, and especially not when the clock runs out and they pull the win.

Especially not when Will gets first star and grins back at him, like he’s on top of the goddamn world.

 

~

 

It’s not until later, when they’re back at Naz’s, cuddled in bed with limbs tangled together and the same episode of Suits playing in the background. And honestly, Naz could’ve sworn that Will was already asleep, too quiet and breath even.

Bu then Will cranes his neck, hair brushing messily against Naz’s face, all up in his nose space and everything. Yet he doesn’t complain, because Naz would rather have Will in his nose space than anyone else.

“Hm?” Naz questions, just a hum, barely there.

“I’m glad I get to do this hockey thing with you,” Will says, stumbling over the words a little, eyes drooping.

Naz chuckles, feels Will’s head bounce on his chest as it shakes. He pats Will’s head a little apologetically and gets all warm when he feels Will lean into it.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I get to do like… _everything_ we do, with you.” And then his eyes flutter a little, he struggles to keep them open. Naz sighs, wraps his arm tighter around him, pulls him in as close as they can be.

He kisses his forehead, light and quick.

“I love you,” Naz says. “Now go to sleep.”

Will hums a response, too tired to string actual words together. So Naz just holds him, tries to embed this image in his memories. Tries to embed this _feeling_ there, too. Wants to save it, save _this_ , for the future.

Not that he’ll need it, of course, because this is real, this is here and now, and this — them, _Will_ — is the future.

Naz doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he does while wrapped up with Will, and that’s all that matters.

It’s been a long time coming but… this is right.

This is good.

  
  
  


_end._

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello thank you for reading!! Some notes!!
> 
> • First off, huge huge huge shoutout to the pucking rare mods! Such an awesome fic fest!!! :D
> 
> • **Original Prompt:** Something set during their rebuild season (2015-2016) when Babcock called up Willy and several other rookies. Naz has had to deal with being a good player on a garbage team for so long but then this new young brilliant rookie is giving him a glimpse of the future.
> 
> • Title is from “Waiting for Love” by Avicii ♡
> 
> • I wrote half of this laying in the grass in a park in central London, watching the sunset over St Paul's Cathedral, surrounded by couples on romantic picnics, and it was honestly the most surreal, perfect moment in my entire life of writing like ever, oh my god. 
> 
> • Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, especially you, OP! Please let me know what yall thought and come find me on twitter @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite/status/821412300875776001)!
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT 2019/01/23:** Please enjoy this visual of true love thanks  
> 


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